A Lucky Quill Indeed
by charmingly-holly
Summary: Quills don’t handle rejection very well, and this one was no exception. It felt very rejected indeed.


**_A/N: Just a bit of pointlessness I wrote earlier. Do tell me what you think. _**

_**Disclaimer: I doth not own. Thou suest me not. Eth**_

_For Lawrence,  
Who wouldn't engage me in conversation  
When I wanted to procrastinate studying  
And instead told me to bugger off  
Which under any other circumstances  
Would be quite rude._

A Lucky Quill Indeed

Our journey begins with a quill without an ink well.

It lay in the dark on the cold stone floor, feeling very dejected, as any quill would when no hand is present to wrap about it and dip it in its ink and scratch it across a piece of lovely blank parchment. It felt quite useless without its well, for what's a quill to be used for if it isn't to write with the ink from its well?

It found it hard to believe that only days ago it had been the favorite quill of the smartest witch of the best wizarding school in the world. Quills don't handle rejection very well, and this one was no exception. It was having a rather difficult time coming to terms with the fact that its owner had never come back to look for it, leaving it on this gray stone floor to be stepped upon and swept around from the wind of passing feet and crushed with book bags filled with heavy tomes.

The quill felt very battered indeed.

The particular floor this quill happened to be miserably lying on happened to belong to the classroom of one Remus J. Lupin, and as the quill very well knew, he happened to be a werewolf. It had been the one to scratch the words out in the journal of the smartest witch of the very best school in the wizarding world's journal.

It took great pride in saying that _its_ owner was not prejudiced at all. In fact, she had made the quill very sore and the ink well run very nearly dry completely filling nine separate pages on the injustices of the wizarding world and the sad predicament the werewolves faced while living in it. The quill felt it was well worth the soreness, and the ink well quite agreed with it.

A slight draft fluttered through the room, and the quill was disturbed from its place under the third desk on the right, five rows back, and blown sporadically through spindly table and chair legs to land concave side down under the chair of Professor Remus J. Lupin himself.

Though the quill did not know this, as the bottoms of all the chairs in the room looked exactly the same, unless you counted the varying patterns of Best-Blowing Gum plastered to their wood (Or lack thereof, if you were to talk about Professor Lupin's seat, as he was the teacher, and he didn't particularly like chewing gum), and the quill had no eyes to distinguish these patterns from the seats in the first place.

Had the quill any eyes, it would have also seen the pale man enter his room looking particularly ill and not a little bit miserable, taking his coat and hat off and hanging them on the hook by his office door. It then would have observed the man rub his hands over his eyes, habitually grab the steaming goblet on his desk, and drain it in one gulp, grimacing as he removed the goblet from his lips.

And if it had had any ears, it would have heard him mutter, "Disgusting," and the heavy thunk of a heavy goblet being placed on the corner of a wooden desk. It would have then heard simultaneous metal clicks of the clasps on a rather ragged and worn-in briefcase being opened, the rustle of papers as a hand searched through the case's infinite depths, and another heavy thunk as a great pile of parchment was plopped onto the desk. A chair would drag back across uneven stone, a sigh would emit from a weary teacher, and a cloak would rustle as that teacher settled himself in his seat to begin the tedious process of grading tests.

And had the quill been able to read minds, it would have known that the professor had become rather distressed as he was unable to find his quill, and how could he grade without the use of a quill? It would have known that the professor found it to his great fortune that there be a battered and dirty, but nonetheless usable, quill lying right there between his feet.

It would have also known that Professor Remus J. Lupin smiled for the very first time that day (he had had a rather bad one. It was two days before the full moon, and he was not feeling very well. Add to that the run-in with Snape and the tiresome negotiation with Peeves _not_ to drop the cauldron on the armor's head, and it turned out to be a very bad day indeed) as he recognized the quill and connected it with its owner.

But the quill didn't need a brain to know that a hand was clasping itself around it and dipping it in its beloved ink and scratching across parchment once again. It stayed in a state of joyous bliss for the next two hours, scratching away at the poor students' tests (Professor Remus J. Lupin had given a bit of what the students called a "killer test" this last time, and the quill was given quite a work-out correcting these students' work.)

_Please see me after the next class, Draco. You're having a bit of trouble with your Riddikulus spell it seems…_

_Much better this time Susan, keep up the good work!_

_Just like always, Mr. Weasley. You know if you studied, you'd get an even better grade?_

_Well done, Harry! 100_

Upon writing its owner's best friend's name, the quill became as excited as a quill can become, and felt a rush of pride in knowing that its owner had no doubt helped Harry to study and was the sole reason he had done so well.

Its mood was diminished once again however, as it was placed in the now much less full ink well as the hand that had been holding it packed up its things and prepared to leave. The quill hadn't any legs, and even if it had, it doubted it could find its way through the labyrinth of halls that made up its owner's school and home.

So overwhelmed with misery and rejection was the quill, that it hardly noticed the hand picking it up again and scribbling out a quick note on a spare piece of parchment. Indeed, had it not been for the recognition of its owners name, it would not have realized it was being used at all.

_Hermione,_

_I found this under my desk chair today, and recognized it as belonging to you. It seems it is a bit more battered than it was when you used it to take my test last Friday, but I'm assuming the state of a lucky quill has little to do with how much luck it actually brings you._

_I do hope you haven't already replaced it with some other quill, as I'm sure that would cause much jealousy in the depths of your school bag. It's not every quill that can call themselves the lucky possession of the smartest witch in Hogwarts._

_I'll see you in class tomorrow morning,_

_Professor Lupin_

_P.S: You didn't hear it from me, but you got a 98 on the test. I believe you included more about hinkypunks in your essay than even I know, and as I'm sure you are correct, I won't bother looking it up to make certain._

_Have a nice day!_

And the quill felt lucky indeed as it was rolled into the parchment and tied to the leg of a tired looking owl and flown to the highest window in Gryffindor tower. Had it any ears, they would have certainly lost their ability to hear such was the piercing height of the shriek that announced the presence of its owner.

Oh, it couldn't wait to tell the inkwell about this one…

_**A/N: Read and Review if you dont mind. I'd very much appreciate it, as exams are doing my poor brain in, and I'm running out of ways to procrastinate.**_


End file.
